Christa Wrightson is a damaged nineteen year old with a tragic past. Leading the life of a gangster, she puts on a mask of a ruthless killer, while inwardly she mourns over each one she kills. All because of that one incident in her childhood days, back when she was a ten-year old. But what happens when she stumbles upon her rival Alfred? What connection do they have? (On Wattpad)

(A/N: Hey, and this is my first original story! Thanks for clicking on the title, guys!This story has been posted on Wattpad, and I hope you read my other stories too, with the links provided on my profile. Well, that's too much promotion for one author's note, so let's get on to the story!)

~Chapter (i): Emotions~

In a scenery of white and red roses, all grown along the broad pathway, leading to another mesmerizing garden of daffodils, a tiny voice called out, "Edward?"

Faint voices of piano and violin could still be heard from the mansion she had walked out of, to the path that lead to the gardens. The pathway on which she hastily walked was filled with the fresh smell of roses. Every now and then, the little seven year old girl would stop to mesmerize the scene around her, but quickly remind herself that she was out there to search for her friend.

"Edward?" She called out again, tired from the brisk walk. Her heavy, yellow-colored gownwas making it harder for the mere four-feet high kid to go on. The intricate designs made by silver embroideries at the end of the gown were starting to wear off. She sighed; it was already dusk. The sky had changed into a beautiful color of orange and red. Not even ten minutes had passed since she began searching for Edward.

Maybe he already left, she thought, and turned to go back to the ball, when she glimpsed that familiar face. "Edward!" Her lips instantly curved into a big smile as she approached the nine year old boy, standing almost five feet far from her.

She took his hand, and her excited smile turned into an apologetic one, "I'm sorry, Edward. Joseph shouldn't have insulted you. You know how my brother is, don't you? He didn't mean any of that which he said back there." She assured him as she dusted the shoulders of Edward's old, tight-fitted brown coat, which he had worn over his same old white shirt. His trousers, of the same color as his coat, now had dust on them.

A small smile rested upon his face when he began dusting his trousers. "Oh no, Christa, I never took him that seriously. He never has an idea of what he is saying." He shrugged it off, while she completely agreed with him. She too, held a bit of dislike towards her step-brother.

They both walked over to the bench nearby, facing a water fountain in the middle of the course. "Then why did you run away from the ball?" The girl, Christa, asked out of curiosity. Edward hung his head, and replied, "I know, that I can never be like you all. You have respect, wealth, a big family and lots of servants to look after you, whereas I am no one compared to you." Christa wanted to stop him, but decided otherwise. Edward continued, "What Joseph said was the truth - that we can never be equal. You are a sophisticated lady, I-"

"But you are also the perfect man! You can dance like a gentleman, can't you?" Christa jumped off her seat and twirled around. Her energy was contagious. Edward couldn't help but smile. She stopped to look at him, arching her eyebrows. He chuckled as he bowed and asked, "Would you like to dance with me, Little Lamb?"

Christa woke up, heavily breathing, covered with beads of sweat on her forehead, and a few tears that had escaped her eyes while she was asleep. "All this... was just a dream." She reminded herself. Just like every other night, memories that she desperately wanted to erase came back to her as another dream.

She groaned, as she dragged herself out of the old bed, which made a creaky sound as she got off. An uncomfortable mattress was a free gift.

The wooden door of the washroom, already having termites on its sides, creaked open as she pushed it to get inside. She stood before the mirror which had lost its shine long ago, and on yellow-stained marble flooring. She then washed her face, the images from her recent dream still fresh in her mind. She tried in vague to push them at the back of her mind.

After wiping her face from the old rag, she changed into her usual clothes - black jeans, black t-shirt under a black leather jacket, and her black boots. But she didn't forget the thing that had now become one of her most important possessions.

She picked up her pistol, and loaded it with bullets, and pocketed a few as well. While her heart told her to keep the weapon back, her mind reminded her of that ages old agonizing scream.

"Run Christa!"

She wasted no time in putting that pistol in her leather jacket's pocket, along with a couple of knives.

With her hair pulled up in a messy bun, as usual, she walked out of her room into a dirty hallway, decorated with dust and spider webs on the sides. She took a right turn to enter a larger, noisy room, filled with lots and lots of men, glasses of beer in their hands, preparing to go for their days work.

Oh, and that 'day's work' was to steal. And to kill.

As she walked in, the noise became lesser and lesser, and heads bowed while she walked to her usual table. She placed herself on the wooden chair and bemusedly watched the scene before her - that of the murders - and a few seconds later, another familiar entered.

Adam, her brother, made way to the same table as hers as the men present in the room bowed their heads again. He wore almost the same clothes as her, all in black.

Instead of seating himself, he announced in his heavy voice, "Boys, load yourself with guns! We have got to win over Dawkin's territory today!" At this, the others cheered and raised their glasses, spilling half of the drink. Dawkin was old mafia; she didn't even know him first name. He and his adoptive son were their only competition in the underworld.

Win over? Yes, that's what they call murdering and robbing, Christa thought. She clearly wasn't satisfied with this; she never was. She never really liked the idea of giving pain to others, but the last nine years had made her like this - hard, cruel, unforgiving. She had lost the count of the number of people whose blood she had on her hands. Maybe a hundred? Or more?

The room was getting emptier and emptier, since the others had already started departing. She and Adam were the only people left. He walked over to her, and gripped her shoulders. "You can do this," he said, his tone slightly softer, "I know you can."

"Please Christa!" he cried, "I know you can do this!"

She immediately nodded, and said, "I will do this. I'll do anything for you, Adam." He smiled and cupped her cheek, and she too, gave him a weak smile.

They descended down the creaky flight of steps and exited the old building. It looked like a warehouse from outside but had numerous rooms inside. Just as she was about to get inside the car, she heard a tiny voice behind her, "Edward!"

Her head snapped back, only to realize that it was a little girl calling out her friend with the same name. She sighed and got inside an SUV with her brother and five others.

Christa looked outside her window. The car was quiet as ever, and but she knew that this silence was soon going to end, that they will soon stink with blood, just like any other day. The car stopped, and she took a deep breath. "It's time" she whispered as she got out of the car, to get a view of another old building surrounded by forests. Not exactly forests, but the place was hardly visited by anyone except Dawkin and his men.

The building looked like it was still under construction, considering the fact that it was broken and incomplete from corners, and that half a wall was missing. Their men had already surrounded the place, and were waiting for Adam's permission to attack.

Adam raised a hand, and

CRASH!

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